Untitled
by WallofIllusion
Summary: Malik receives the Gravekeepers' Ritual. Rated for excessive violence duh.


As the longest night of my life faded into morning, I listened to my father's approaching footsteps with increasing dread.

"Master Malik, he is coming," Rishid said quietly. He had been with me all night; he was there, comforting me, when I finally ran out of terrified tears and decided to try to sleep.

Now, I begged him to be quiet and curled up tightly in my bed, facing the wall. My eyes were squeezed shut.

When Father reached my bed—I could smell his scent of ash and old papyrus from spending so much time in the library—he asked Rishid, "Is he awake?"

Rishid replied, vaguely, that I had had a long night. Obviously thinking that meant "no", Father shook me by the shoulder. "Wake up, Malik," he commanded. "It's time."

I didn't answer, hoping maybe if he thought I was still asleep, he would leave for a bit. Maybe he would let me "sleep" for just a little longer. For the past month, he had wanted me to save my strength in every possible way.

Because I was going to need all the strength I could get to face today.

He didn't leave, though. Instead, he yanked me out of bed, destroying any illusion of slumber. That safety gone, I began to struggle against his unbreakable grip on my left arm as he tried to drag me out of my room. I fought him as hard as I could, kicking and hitting and pulling at his fingers. To my surprise, I was strong enough to force him to stop.

"Don't fight me, Malik!" he shouted. He hit me across the face, but I barely felt it because I was so desperate to escape.

Angrily, he commanded, "Rishid, help me!" I continued kicking and struggling. I was sure that Rishid would never help my father hurt me.

And, at first, he didn't. He stayed seated on my bed, head bowed in respect to my father, but not moving to meet his request. I could almost feel Father grow angrier and angrier at Rishid's continued refusal. "Rishid…" he growled in a dangerous voice. "You i _will_ /i help me…"

I focused on pulling away from Father as he started to threaten Rishid, certain that at any moment he would let go of me to carry out his threats. And the second he loosened his grip, I would pull free and run to Rishid, and then I would be safe.

So intent was I on this train of thought that I was taken completely by surprise when I felt a firm hand grasp my free arm. I looked up in shock to see Rishid. His eyes were closed and his face was emotionless as he held onto my arm.

I thought I had used up all my tears during the night, but new ones rose to my eyes at Rishid's betrayal. If Rishid would help my father, there was no hope… no reason to fight. I pulled out of Rishid's traitorous grasp, but did not struggle any more.

As Father led me out of the room, I cast a wounded look over my shoulder at Rishid. His eyes, meeting mine, seemed to ask for forgiveness, but finding his answer in my furious expression, he dropped his gaze. I turned my own forward.

Then I realized fully that there was no way to stop what was about to happen to me. I started to shake uncontrollably, my silent tears turning into loud, terrified sobs. Father and I had already reached the Ceremony Room before I could control my voice enough to beg, "Father… p-please… don't do this to me…"

There was a stone table in the center of the room. After pulling my robes down to reveal the skin on my back, Father half-dragged me to the stone slab and commanded me to lie on it, face down. When I wouldn't, he shoved me; I wound up sprawled painfully on the table, looking up into Father's face. I hoped to see pity or reluctance but found only anger… and a barely-hidden, terrifying eagerness. "You will not escape," he told me. "I have waited ten years for this day… For your Gravekeepers' Ritual…"

I jerked with a new wave of fear; unseeing, Father demanded that I lie on my stomach with my arms and legs spread. Having no other choice, I did so. Then Father tied my wrists and ankles to the edge of the table with thick leather thongs and pushed a small scroll into my mouth for a gag. My will to fight almost spent, I tried one last time to escape, but I was tightly bound. I couldn't move. Crying still, out of fear, and now out of helplessness, I let my body go limp and lay on the cold stone, waiting. There was nothing I could do to save myself.

It was not long before I first felt the heated knife being pressed deep into my skin. A whimper shook my throat and was smothered against my gag, but my cries of pain grew louder as my father continued to carve me, his knife pressing deeper with each new hieroglyph—no, he wasn't even on the hieroglyphs yet. Having spent so much of my time in the past year staring at the design of "Pharaoh's Memory" in terror, I discovered I could easily see in my mind's eye what my father was carving. I could clearly imagine what it looked like as Father cut into my skin to form the wing design that topped the Pharaoh's Memory; I saw, as if watching from above, the blood welling up in the fresh cuts, spilling over my back and my hair, painting my father's hands a deep red. This made the torture even worse. I trembled violently, my cries of pain now screams that choked past the gag and shook the air.

"Lie still!" my father snapped. But I could not help my shaking any more than I could help the fact that I was receiving this abuse.

He finally finished the many-feathered wings. The knife now dug into the skin directly below them. Once again, I experienced the strange feeling of "seeing" exactly what my father was carving, of knowing what each red-hot line of pain meant as it was engraved on my back: first, a series of hieroglyphs, and then a simplified carving of the Saint Dragon of Osiris.

But I lost this "seeing" ability as the burning pain in my back began to overpower my thoughts. I was certain this would kill me; there was no way any human could possibly survive such torture.

After another set of hieroglyphs, Father began to carve the Winged Divine Dragon of Ra into the skin below the first set. He brushed his hand across my back, probably clearing away some blood; but this simple, maybe even automatic action caused a new shock of pain as he touched the tender, shredded skin that had been carved already. Unable to help myself, I arched my back upwards, trying to make the pain stop.

It only caused more pain, though, because my father was angry at my motion. "I said to i _lie still_ /i !" He forced me down again by pushing on the center of the wing carvings. I yelled in agony, but did not move.

The pain and blood loss began to weaken me. Again, I went limp, my pained screams fading to moans as I relaxed my body into a sleep-like position. My eyes were half-closed and dull. I could feel each pound of my heart wrack my body and increase my pain.

I suddenly noticed a smothering feeling hovering on the edge of my consciousness. As it began to creep into the rest of my mind, I discovered that if I focused on it hard enough, I felt less pain. /What are you?/ I asked the stifling, black feeling. I thought I knew the answer. /Are you death?/

A voice, something like my own but filled with power, answered: Yes, you may call me death. Do you want to die, little Malik?

I was dizzy and weak. I couldn't think straight. In my confusion, the voice's question did not strike me as strange at all. I replied thoughtfully but simply, as if asked something unimportant, like what I wanted for supper. /If I die, I don't have to feel this pain./

I can save you, Malik. All you have to do is let me control your body.The black feeling had spread through almost all of my mind now, but the pain still pierced through it like the glint of metal in the darkness. I decided to trust the voice that spoke from within me.

/Done…/ I said weakly. The blackness overcame me and the pain faded away.

I awoke later, but I did not know by how much. The pain had returned; it now covered my whole back. Father had removed the gag from my mouth and the cords from my wrists and ankles, and was now wrapping my back in bandages. He didn't speak. I wondered for a second if he were disappointed that something he had looked forward to so much was over.

I could still feel the black presence at the edge of my mind, but now it seemed like it was caged. I shivered, sending a small wave of increased pain down my back, as I realized that this black voice scared me. Whatever it was that held it back, I was grateful.

After my father finished putting on my bandages, he left the room. I continued to lie on the stone table for a while, motionless, doubting my ability to stand. I breathed shallowly, because the more I let my lungs fill, the more my perfect stillness was disturbed. But even if I lay as still as I could, my back continued to hurt. Like during the Ritual, each of my heartbeats awakened more pain.

After almost half an hour, I decided to try to sit up. I carefully moved so that my arms were under me, then leaned on them and tried to ignore the pain as I lifted myself. But then I became incredibly light-headed, my senses dulling and my muscles weakening. I collapsed onto the table again, and the pain in my back doubled. It was enough to make me start crying.

As I wept, I realized for the first time that I shouldn't have had to face that pain. The torture I had been through in that day was too much for anyone, far too much for a ten-year-old boy. Undeserved. Just because I was born into this family…

Sorrow and pain turned into anger in my mind, then into a blinding hatred of those who had allowed me to suffer. In my delirious confusion, I staggered to my feet and walked out of the Ceremony Room. I leaned heavily on the wall for a moment to regain my strength, then continued with my hand resting on it for balance. As I walked, I muttered to myself, "Who is it that I should hate most? That i _pharaoh_ /i , for not just dying and letting me live a normal life? My father, who liked hurting me so much?"

I had entered my room. Rishid sat there, on my bed again, where he'd been before he betrayed me that morning. He stood when he saw me. "Or should I hate you, Rishid?" I asked bitterly. "I thought you were my friend, but you betrayed me and helped Father. Maybe it's you I should…" I looked up and broke off. The left side of Rishid's face was hidden by bandages. "What happened?" I asked.

His eyes were sad. "I couldn't do anything to help your pain," he said. He let the bandages fall, revealing a carefully carved hieroglyph design on his face. Most of the blood had dried, and I could see that it was a rune for protection and faithfulness. "I wanted to help you. This is… a symbol of my loyalty. To your family, and to you."

He'd done such a thing… for me? I stood in surprise for a second; then, ignoring my pain, I threw my arms around him in the tightest hug I could give. I began to cry again, tears of love and gratitude, Rishid's former betrayal forgotten. I knew that whatever happened, Rishid would be with me to protect me. "Thank you so much, big brother…" I said between tears. "From now on, you're my shadow. I'm never, ever going anywhere without you."


End file.
